The Truth
by Jack Wong
Summary: A new hero is in town - and Batman is intent on finding him. From Robin's POV. Old story, re-upped. Comment if you dig it


It's a small neighborhood; well, as small as neighborhoods get in Gotham. It's a huge maze of buildings and a few parks, including the one of its name, but it's not an unfathomable place. Robinson Park gets a lopsided amount of crime, has serious gang issues and bad disease rates, but it has its charms. We don't see them in our rounds, but I'm sure they're there.

Bruce is concerned, about something I don't fully understand. There has been a rash of vandalism in the neighborhood recently; not abnormal at all, theoretically. But the graffiti has been of a curious variety – instead of claiming a name, or gang territory, it has been solving mysteries.

Old cases.

Cold cases.

Cases that many would rather stayed in the fridge.

"Robin," Bruce says, and I turn.

His face is pensive. "What's up?" I ask.

"I want you to do your rounds in East Gotham tonight," he says.

"What about you?"

He doesn't take his eyes away from the alley we're perched above. "I'm going to look for The Truth."

The first tag, or at least the first one anyone noticed, was a pair of dice captured mid-roll in bright pink spraypaint, on a building above a storefront on a well-traveled street; a line from the painting led around the corner, terminating with an arrow pointed to an inconspicuous door next to an empty parking lot.

Whichever cop or concerned citizen noticed it first called it in, and a long-overdue raid went down; behind the door was a massive underground casino. The police netted an operation worth millions of dollars and put several Dragons gang members behind bars, at least temporarily. But it raised questions.

How was such an operation allowed to exist? It should have been obvious to local cops that a shuttle van was going back and forth to offsite parking. Robinson Park may not be small, exactly, but if you spent enough time there you would notice these sorts of things.

And just like that, officers Masu and Franklin were off the streets. No official reason was offered, or needed – in local circles the two were well known to be corrupt. And that's about where that story ends.

Kind of.

Because everyone wondered, after that day. Wondered who had the balls needed to expose the casino. The Dragons are not people you want to piss off, and they were wondering too; a price of half a million was immediately placed on the artist's head, and bounty hunters and private detectives were unleashed into 'The Park.' No one found anything. The bounty went up. Still nothing.

Then, just as things were quieting down, another tag went up. Two chalk outlines on a wall, appearing to stand on a fire escape. A dotted line led from the outlines down to the street, where there were four symbols: a badge. A doll. A weight of some kind. And the same signature that had been right above the casino door, half driving the point home and half meant to build the name.

The Truth.

Two men died three years ago, on that exact fire escape. Gunshot wounds. It was believed the death was gang related. No one suspected officer John Dalton, who was working Robinson Park at the time and building his reputation of unnecessary force and corruption on these blocks.

Doll. Ton. Dalton. It didn't take a genius to see the accusation. And, under pressure from citizen's groups and local politicians, GPD started an investigation. It was short but sweet – evidence surfaced, even a witness. The thin blue line couldn't save John; he lost his badge and went to prison. And ever since then, The Truth has become a legend.

Who is he? What's his motivation? How does he avoid being sighted on busy streets? Is he even a man? Is he Robinson Park's own hero?

Its own Batman?

The Truth is a new kind of hero, really. Batman and I stop crime, usually before or while it's happening; this faceless man uses paint to uncover crimes of the past, occasionally stretching into the present. Really he fills in a gap we don't have the time to – he brings closure to cases long unsolved, long forgotten. Robinson Park needs this kind of hero. It needs as many heroes as it can get.

Which is why Bruce's reaction to the situation strikes me as strange; ever since The Truth came onto the scene he appears to be more concerned than anything else. This new hero has done nothing but good, at least in my eyes, but Bruce seems to think of him as a common criminal, if not worse.

There's something I don't know.

Maybe Bruce knows who it is. Maybe there has been a relationship already, one that left a sour taste in the mouth of the Bat. If so, or for whatever reason Bruce has for disliking the guy, I would not want to be The Truth.

He wants me to do my rounds elsewhere, I think as I swing to a stop on Fourth Street, East Gotham. He's looking for the guy, and doesn't want me there. Why?

I don't have time to think about it. Bruce calls me over our satellite connection – "Robin," he says.

"What's up, Bats?"

"Do you have your acid tablets?" he asks.

"You need to dissolve something?" I say. He doesn't respond. "What about yours?"

"I ran out," he says. "Meet me on Talbot Avenue next to the park. I'm on the roof of the white five-story."

"Anything else?" I ask.

"Hurry."

So I hastily make my way all the way back to The Park. I find the five-story and climb up, setting on the roof on the south side. Over in the corner is Bruce in his suit; he's scrubbing something on the ground.

I walk over and he looks over to make sure it's me. He nods, then stands. "Got the tablets?" he asks. I produce them as he approaches and reaches out his hand; once they are in his possession he turns and walks away, back towards what he was doing before I showed up.

"Go back to East Gotham," he says.

"It's quiet."

He doesn't face me. "Then go to the flats."

"What are you doing?"

Bruce gives me his chilly Batman stare. "Go, Robin." He sees that I'm unfazed. "You don't want to know," he says, and turns back to the roof.

But I do. I've been working on my quiet walk – still he hears me as I approach. He turns quickly, but I see something…

"Go!" he says, like I'm a dog. But it's too late.

On the roof, in bright blue paint, is what remains of a baseball bat, and a line leading off of the roof. Next to the bat is the telltale tag of Robinson Park's own – The Truth.

The bat is easy – it stands for Batman; he probably erased the 'man' part with his own acid. But what about the line…

I walk over to the edge of the building and stare down – nothing. It stops at the edge. He must have spent the past hour or longer erasing the tag. But why?

Bruce is looking down as I turn back, like something has happened. And I suppose it has.

"What was the tag?" I ask. He is not forthcoming. "Come on, you can tell me."

He pops a tablet onto the bat painting and starts to scrub; slowly it starts to come off.

"Batman-"

"No," he says.

I am getting more and more curious. "What do you mean no?"

He looks up at me, and his stare is the coldest, cruelest I have ever had directed at me. I am taken aback. "I mean no." He turns back to the tag. "Not this time. I can't share this with you." He scrubs more, and just as I open my mouth to speak – "I'm sorry."

I have heard some horrible shit come out of this man's mouth. The things he's done would shock most men. What could he possibly not tell me?

"Can I help?"

"I would prefer it if you weren't here," he says.

But I don't move. I stand there, wondering, as he scrubs away.

'

I sprained my ankle.

Usually Bruce would laugh and say something snide about me having to train more – but instead he barely said anything. He just nodded and told me to sit in and ice it tonight, as if I didn't know. Jumping from building to building gets you sometimes; it was just a freak accident. I mean I almost died, slipping off that pole, but I know how to shoot a grappling hook – still, it's worth laughing about it. I do need to train more.

But he has been nothing but serious lately. It can't be the weather. It must be The Truth.

I could watch TV, or try to work on my upper body, but I try to feel useful and am watching the law enforcement frequencies for him. I don't bother him with anything below a robbery, and tonight there isn't much to chime in about. Not that it would matter – he seems pretty stuck on doing rounds in Robinson Park. Over and over again.

"Something's going to happen," he says when I ask why. I assume that's the only answer I'm going to get. We both know what he's doing, what he would say if he told the truth. The truth. Ha.

"Master Dick?" Alfred says, opening the door to the cave.

I turn. "What's up, Alfred?"

He looks around until he sees me at the desk. "Can I get you anything?"

"Damn, Alfred, I told you not to worry about me like that." He smiles. "Just do your thing, okay?"

"I would be delighted to, if there was anything to do." He steps inside and closes the door behind him. "I'm afraid the house is spotless and my hobbies are of little interest to me at the moment."

"Hobbies?" I ask.

He looks at me with that slightly amused stare. "I do have hobbies, you know."

I turn back to the giant screen. "Sure." A call comes across the police frequency and I listen in – nothing important. I lean back and look at our butler, who is walking down the cave steps towards me. "Well, what can I do for you, Alfred?"

"Master Bruce seems a bit on edge these days," he says.

"A bit?"

He smiles. "Well, he won't talk to me about it. I was wondering if you had any information you would care to share."

I shake my head. "He hasn't told me anything either." Alfred and I sit in the lit cave, in the dark. "Say Alfred, did something happen in Robinson Park? Like, a while ago?"

His face changes. He does know.

"What was it," I ask.

Now Alfred looks away, giving me the cold shoulder. "It's this Truth figure, isn't it?"

"That's right," I say. I'm not sure if I should go into detail about what happened a few nights ago, but, I think, the less secrets kept in this situation the better. "I'll tell you what I know if you tell me-"

"I don't think that would be advisable," Alfred says. "The less either of us know, the better."

I stare. "What are you talking about?" He doesn't budge. "And don't interrupt me, Alfred. You know I don't interrupt you."

His eyes seem to have glazed over, and they stare forlornly at something in the murky distance. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Well-"

Suddenly the frequencies explode; everyone's talking about the same thing and it takes a minute to figure out what is going on, but Alfred and I get it. "Dear god," he says.

The Scarecrow has just come out of hiding. With a bang.

It's been a while since Jonathan Crane has escaped from the minimal-security jail Bruce had fought hard to keep him out of. Only in Gotham would a highly dangerous criminal like him be held there - dirty money greased the wheels to make sure that escape was almost inevitable.

Since he had been out we had hoped he would have skipped town; they never found all of the money he took during his last spree of profitable terrorism, and the thought was that perhaps it was enough. Perhaps he would take it and leave Gotham for good.

Nope.

"Bats," I say, patching into our satellite line, "Scarecrow's just made a move downtown."

There is silence.

"Batman," I say.

"What's the story?" comes the response, slowly.

I clear my throat and check my notes. "He's holding hostages at the Metro opera house. Some kind of private party."

More silence.

"Are the cops on it?" he says eventually.

I laugh. "Excuse me?"

"I can't make it."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, angry all of a sudden. "What's so important in Robinson Park?"

Alfred makes a motion and I turn – his finger is to his lips: shh.

I turn back, with no intention of letting him off the hook. "Why won't you tell me what the fuck's going on?"

"Watch your language," he says.

"You watch your fucking language!" I find myself yelling. "The Scarecrow has hostages! You know what he does with them! And you're prancing around The Park-"

The line goes dead. He hung up on me. I look at the computer in shock, and Alfred sighs. I turn to the butler.

"You tell me what's going on," I say. He looks down. "Right now!"

"I don't think Bruce would like it very much if I spoke about this matter."

I am aghast. "I'm ordering you, Alfred."

He looks up and laughs at me, like I'm 15 again. "Well well," he says.

Once I gather myself I am ashamed. "I'm sorry," I say.

"I've worked for the Waynes for too many years to count," Alfred says. "I can count how long I've known you on my hands."

I'm shocked; he's pulling rank, and I've never heard him do that before. Then again, he's never had to.

Rebuffed, I turn back to the computer and try again to communicate. "Batman," I say into the microphone, to no response. "Bats," I say, and nothing comes. I turn away. God damn it.

"R-in," something on the other end says. "Rob-son-rk. I n-d…" Then the line goes dead. I turn to Alfred.

I speak enough broken transmitter to know that he needs me in Robinson Park. Alfred does too. "I'll start the Batmobile," Alfred said. "You will stay off the leg, won't you?"

I try. The car screams through the city streets, attracting eyes and wonder, probably wonder as to why we're not downtown. I want to know as well. But if Bruce is in danger, and he might well be, there are priorities here.

Robinson Park is busy; it usually is at 9pm on a Friday. Still, it's not hard to tell where Bruce is. A small crowd has gathered around a man in a dark suit, a man sitting on the edge of a sidewalk on the main drag. A dark suit and…

He watches me pull up and stands. Bruce starts to walk towards me and I can tell something is wrong – he can't actually see. I open the driver's door and walk around the side, help him in the passenger door, and we speed away.

Neither of us speaks; I know he doesn't want to talk about it. But it's hard to ignore the fact that his face is covered with bright green spraypaint. Bruce found him, I'm assuming, but I'm also assuming that The Truth got away.

We drive home without speaking. He is, I'm guessing, embarrassed, and seems like he wants to get the paint off and get right back out there, to get revenge. Alfred is waiting in the cave with the right concoction to remove the green without damage, and odds are Bruce will leave without an explanation as soon possible.

He gets out. "Master Bruce," Alfred says, and the helpless Bat walks in the voice's direction. "Looks like he got you by surprise."

"She."

Alfred looks mildly surprised, quickly removing the paint with his left hand. "She, you say." I am mildly surprised as well.

Bruce nods. "She tries to dress like a man but it's not hard to tell." He pauses, then swings a pointing finger in my general direction. "Go upstairs, Dick."

"No."

Bruce doesn't turn, and Alfred doesn't look away from his work. Neither says anything.

"I'm not going," I say, to drive the point home.

"I don't want you here," Bruce says.

I don't snicker, even though I want to. "Too bad."

He turns, one eye somewhat clear, and stares at me. He is a man changed – I've never seen him like this. "I have to talk to Alfred. You have to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say, stepping in closer. "Whatever you can say to him, you can say to me."

Bruce looks at me with venom, and is about to get nasty when Alfred intrudes. "If I may, sir." The Bat looks to his butler, and, after a moment of eye contact, nods.

Alfred turns to me, emotionless. "If you were to stay, you would be considered an accomplice." I stop. I know what he's saying – don't I? "And none of us want that."

There is a pause.

"I do," I say.

Bruce turns to me and gives me a one-eyed stare, forever; the kind of look he gives me every once in a while. He's judging me – he wants to see if I'm old enough. Old enough for what?

He looks back to Alfred, who I notice is also looking in my direction. Our butler turns back to his work, on the other eye, and shrugs.

I watch the Batman, my idol, as he gets a tuneup. "Fine," he says eventually. And, like I'm a fly on the wall, they continue with their work.

'

Gordon's seems like he's been waiting on the roof for some time; I had to fix up my foot before I hit the night. He looks a little annoyed, but as I swing down he is still looking for the source of his annoyance. After a few seconds of me walking towards him he stops searching the darkness and faces me. "Where's Batman?" he asks.

"Sorry, I'm all you're getting tonight." Gordon's a little surprised at that. "Well try not to look too happy," I say.

He shifts his annoyance to yours truly. "We're all wondering why you two didn't show up at the opera house last night."

"I was injured," I say. "Batman was otherwise engaged. Is this about the Scarecrow?"

"Otherwise engaged?" Gordon cuts. "Crane hit three hundred Gotham socialites with fear toxin! We had a hell of a mess to clean up." He pauses. "What was the engagement?"

"…I can't talk about it," I say.

He sighs. "Well, it'd better be something good." He holds out the folder in his hand. "It's about Scarecrow, yes."

I nod as I take it. "What about him."

"He took three hostages with him when he got away." I make a face; regret. "You guys really dropped the ball on this one," he says.

I look up. "Excuse me?" He doesn't repeat. "What are you talking about? We help, you guys are the ones that are supposed to catch the guys."

"Well, the fruits in suits are your jurisdiction," Gordon says. "Crane is someone Batman swore to defend the city from."

I find myself getting angry. "Look Gordon, if your force was competent, we wouldn't have to defend Gotham at all!"

"My force is competent you little shit!" He's pissed.

I smile. "Then why don't you prove it sometime."

He boils, staring death at me. The air in the city crackles with tension, but he doesn't want to fight me. And I don't want to have to tell Batman I beat him up.

I realize what's going on and fold my hand. "Look, I'm sorry Jim," I say, standing down. "I really am. Batman's been…out of sorts, lately, and I've been pretty angry with him. Looks like I vented and you were the target."

"That makes two of us," he says. He looks off of the building to the river and is his cool and collected self again, like nothing happened.

"What's in the folder?" I ask.

"Some of my incompetent men found Crane's hideout."

I shake my head as I open the folder. "I'm sorry, Jim, I didn't mean it."

"Well, I know what you meant," he says, and leaves it at that. "I figured you two might be able to supply some tact in bringing the Scarecrow in."

I nod. "That we can do." I pause, and look up. "Well, at least I can."

Gordon stares at me, then looks away. "He's after The Truth, isn't he."

I glance at his face; his eyes are avoiding me. He doesn't want to know. "See you in an hour, Jim."

"Yeah," he says, and I fly away.

'

"The cops are going to strike soon," I tell him over the satellite link. "I'm assuming you won't make it?"

"That's right, Robin," he says.

"Okay Bats."

I almost hang up, but he speaks – "Robin, I need you to do something," he says.

"What's that?" I ask.

"I want you to grab some of Crane's fear toxin for me."

I pause. "What do you mean, like a sample?"

"If you can, get something that sprays."

"Alright," I say. "How's the patrol going?"

He's quiet. "Fine," he says, and the call is over.

'

I don't go in early, and I don't assume the quarterback position for the raid. In fact, I barely do anything. Gordon's SWAT team swarms the warehouse, and when the signal is given everything folds up nicely; everything except for the capture of Crane himself, which is my job. He makes his way out into the alley towards where the car is hidden; he doesn't get a chance to remove the cover, and hits the concrete hard with me on top of him.

"Missed you last night," he says to me as they lead him away. "Had a nice surprise for you." He smiles. I turn away, and don't give him a response.

The boys are gathering evidence, and one turns as I approach. "Boy Wonder. What can I do for you," he says gruffly.

"I need some of Crane's toxin for our lab," I say. He looks to the other guys.

"That's a lot of paperwork, kid." And he doesn't look like a bookworm.

I look across the room. "Well there is something happening over there," I say. He gets it and turns. I quickly grab one of the miniature sprayers and say goodbye.

On the way out I see Gordon. "Well, you guys certainly seemed competent tonight."

"This is our job," he replies, not wanting a conversation. "Give my best to the Bat."

"Will do," I say, and I leave.

'

I run my rounds, hitting the generally quiet North Side, which has no surprises. Really things have been ok lately; it's been a good time for Bruce to devote some time to a solo investigation. Not that three hundred socialites would agree, but…

My transmitter goes off and I swing to a stop on a building before picking up. "What's up?" I ask.

What I hear on the other end is disturbing. Bruce is holding an obviously thrashing young woman, hand or something over her mouth. "I've got The Truth," he says, to a loud filtered scream from the girl. "I need you to bring me the toxin."

'

Robinson Park is quiet.

A little too quiet for my tastes, but I suppose it fits the situation. Maybe no one's up; it is late. Maybe it's because it's a weekday. But whatever the reason, things are still.

Which makes what I'm about to do that much more horrible.

I shoot the hook towards the corner of a building, latching on and flying over a street that should be crowded with people, people who are strangely absent. I pull the hook in, and just as quickly it grapples another building. So it goes for a very, very long seven blocks. My heart weighs heavy in my chest, and I fear it will take me with it as it crashes into the abyss below. Am I really going to do this.

Is it really the right thing to do?

I see the red building, right next to a taller black one, and swing a long arc until I am there, lightly hitting the side and pulling myself up to the roof. And there is Batman, with a girl my age, black bandana over her mouth and beanie on her head, leaning unconscious on a wall.

"Robin," he says, and starts to walk over. And just like that, as he steps away to consult with me, she rights herself and sprints away.

"Help!" she screams, but The Park is silent – it has heard that sound too many times, and is too wise to respond. She changes tact as she runs, in random zig zags like someone trained. She turns her head back. "I didn't do anything!"

Batman shoots his hook and misses. "Help me out Robin," he says.

She is nearing the edge of the building. She is getting away. And I want her to.

"Robin!" he yells, and I snap out of it. I am loyal to Bruce. He gave me everything. I pull out my hook and we shoot at the same time – she dodges into mine as it snakes across the rooftop, and she falls as it swings around her right leg.

"I didn't do anything!" she screams. "Everyone knows!"

I'm not going to be a dick and pull her towards me – she just doesn't deserve it. We walk over; she's tied tight anyway.

"Everyone knows what you did!" She tries to crawl the last few feet towards the edge, but it's useless. We're there.

Bruce is cold and calculating. She tries to fight him but he easily gets a hold and stands her up. "Robin," he says, but I am transfixed.

The Truth is younger than me. She is obviously a minority, and her accent makes it clear English is her second language. Vietnamese, or maybe Thai, the first.

"Robin!" Bruce yells.

I turn to him. "Are you really going to-"

"Give me the toxin. Now!"

"Don't do it!" she yells. "He's a killer!" Bruce grips her mouth but she manages to speak over him. "He's a monster!" the muffled voice of The Truth yells.

The Truth.

Batman turns to her. "Do you know how many lives I have saved. Do you have any idea-"

"Not enough!" she screams. "Not enough for what you did!" There is a pause, and Batman stops his movements. I stare, but I have no way of knowing what is going on in Bruce's head. "He was only 18," she says, barely a whisper through his hand, and the world holds its breath along with mine.

Seconds go by. Bruce is lost in his mind, but as he stares at the ground he takes his hand off her mouth and holds it out to me.

"Help!" she yells again, fruitlessly. The cops would defer to the bat, if they came at all. Hell, she's taken out two-thirds of the dirt in the Robinson Park patrol, and many others are under investigation. They wouldn't care. They'd be happy. The cops would not help.

She would need a hero.

"Robin," he says. "Give me the toxin."

I stare.

"How can you live with yourself?" she screams. At me. "How can you-"

Batman hits her, smacks her in the jaw, and she shuts it. She's crying.

"Hand me the toxin, Robin."

I am loyal to Bruce.

I take it out of my belt.

I owe him everything.

My right hand drops it into his left.

Everything.

And I look away.

He takes it, then thinks. He puts it on the ground and pulls out the chloroform. She squirms with all she's got but doesn't cry out. Instead she stares, and catches his glance. And the glance is horrible; the false part of him, the part we would all like to think is good, and righteous, is gone – his eyes are hollow, those of a ghost. A machine.

"There's a code," he says, to drive the point of his stare home. "You should know."

"Fuck the code!" she yells, her last attempt at saving herself. Bruce is cold. "It's rotten!" He is nothing, inhuman, as her humanity begs to him. "This whole city's rotten!" she yells. She's not crying anymore. She has accepted it, and now she is nothing but disgusted. She is hate.

And as she breathes in he pushes the chemical in her face. "And you're the core..." she says, and trails off as she goes limp. And that will be the last sane thing she says.

Batman wipes his face. "God damn it." He doesn't look at me, too weak to tell me to leave, to not be a witness to this. He takes the sprayer, and puts it to her face, right under her nose.

There's no screaming. Robinson Park is quiet once again. No one will speak of this. No one will know what happened, even if they were watching from their window, which no one is stupid enough to do. And no one, no one, will remember The Truth.

'

Gordon is standing on the rooftop, alone, unkempt and depressed. He looks up as we land, and walks towards Batman. "What happened," he asks the caped crusader.

"She-"

He shoots his eyes over. "I'm not asking YOU," he says. He kills me with his stare, brief as it is, and turns back to Bruce. I am dismissed. I am no one on this roof.

"She was working with Scarecrow," he says. "There was an accident."

Gordon stares, long and hard, at the Bat. "She's still talking," he says. Bruce is stoic. "She's in pretty bad shape, but she's talking."

Batman can't hold the gaze, and loses the staring contest. He looks down and falls to his knees, head in his hands. I have never seen him like this. I look to Gordon, and I can tell that he has. Too many times.

Now is the time for Bruce to say something. To tell us how sorry he is.

Right now.

"I'm going to walk away," Gordon says, after leagues of silence. And he turns, slowly, leaving still more time for Bruce, then puts one foot in front of the other and does.

It's a long walk, from our spot on the rooftop, to the stairs, and he will have an even longer walk as he makes his way into the guts of police headquarters. He will sit at his desk and hate his life.

I don't need a desk, and don't need the pleasure of one to sink into. I've hated my life for some time.

"I want to die," Bruce says.

I turn to him, quickly. "What? Don't say that."

"I don't want these secrets," he says. "I don't want…" He fumbles with words, and none come out. But I know what he's saying.

And I don't know what to say – no joke is worth cracking. No encouragement would mean anything. We both know all there is to know.

And he stands, convincing himself, as he always does, to walk it off. He says nothing to me; he doesn't look at me. He shoots his hook at the Mercy Building, and, like the bat of his name, flies off into darkness, into the night.

I don't want this kind of secret either. It's times like this I don't want any of it. Breaking bones you know won't heal. Giving people who fucked up once, just once, a life behind bars. And fucking up this way, letting yourself get the better of you, just once, is the worst.

Because we are too big, too important, to be held down by the law.

I know this.

Gordon knows this.

And Batman, he knows it the best.


End file.
